


Scars of Dazar'alor

by katofthenorth



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Jaina is a bit of a martyr, One-Shot, Post-Battle of Dazar'alor, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katofthenorth/pseuds/katofthenorth
Summary: I've sitting on this for a while now, so... here it is.After the Battle, Jaina returns to the Alliances assault camp.Inspired by this awesome art bySparklymanacakes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Scars of Dazar'alor

“I said I’m fine,” Jaina insisted to the pair of healers that had rushed to her the moment she had returned to the Alliances strike camp on the southern shores of Drustvar. She cast her tired eyes over to the medical tent, guilt curling terribly in her gut. “Go and tend to the wounded. They need you more than I do,” Jaina ordered, even as she leaned more heavily on her staff.

This action didn't go unnoticed by the Draenei priest as he reached out a gentle hand to steady the Lord Admiral. “With all due respect, Lady Proudmoore, you most assuredly count as one of the wounded.”

Jaina’s face hardened, “If I can still stand--”

“Hardly,” the priest's elven assistant huffed quietly.

Jaina scowled at him, the look diminished by the trail of dried blood that marred the side of her face. “If I can still  _ mostly  _ stand,” Jaina reiterated, “then I am sure that there are others who can be treated before me.” 

The priest sighed heavily, shaking his head, “please return to the Keep at least,” he pleaded tiredly. 

Jaina didn’t give him an answer, but they both knew that she would not be returning to her comfortable quarters. She held out her hand expectantly, “but if you would be so kind, a medkit? And directions to where the High King erected my tent.”

After the priest had found her a kit, Jaina carefully picked her way through the camp and made her way slowly towards the far side. Anduin and his generals knew Jaina too well, it would seem, as her tent was a good distance away from the rest of the camp. Her tent contained none of the lavish things that many leaders tents would have often contained, another sign that they knew her well. A simple cot, desk, trunk and armor stand, more than enough for Jaina’s simple needs. 

Once she was safely inside, away from prying eyes, Jaina all but collapsed onto the cot, biting her lip to stifle a cry of pain. She nearly dropped the kit but managed to set it on her cot, only further aggravating the cracked rib she had received from a monk’s swift punch to her side. It took far too much effort to undress down to her small clothes. She dumped her clothes in a bloody heap on the ground and tossed the armor to a far corner to be mostly forgotten. 

She winced as she trailed her fingers around the savage bite that had been dealt to her thigh by a Druid in a moment of distraction. That, at least, she would allow a healer to deal with. It wouldn’t do well for her to be unable to walk, she still had a navy to lead after all. The rest of the deep cuts and wounds? No, Jaina decided as she looked at the mottled bruising that marred her casting arm. No she wouldn’t have those healed. Why should she?

She traced a rune in the air before her, casting a simple mirror image spell. Jaina stood shakily as her double went through the kit, picking out the needed items. She allowed her mind to wander as her double began the tedious task of cleaning her wounds. 

The attack had been a success, that’s what they would say. The Zandalari king was dead, their forces in shambles and their navy in ruin. But Jaina knew better. They hadn’t managed what they had been trying to achieve, Jaina knew this for a fact. They had wanted to cripple them and drive them away from the Horde, get rid of their possible stronghold in the ocean. She had seen the look on the princess’ face. Another father slain. Another Daughter left to lead alone.

Jaina flinched as her image began to meticulously stitch the large gash that ran down her back. What had caused that one? Was it one of the death knights? Or the Blood Elf? Did it really matter? They had managed to cleave through all of her defences and nearly into her spine. Just one of many injuries that could have ended her life this day. 

And yet, here she was, her wounds being carefully stitched and bandaged. So many had died. Warriors and champions far more loyal to the Alliance, to peace, than she had been in years. And yet once more she had walked away with her life.

Why? Battle after battle. War after war. After every terrible attack and assault, why was it that she got to live? Jaina looked down at her hands turning them over. Hands that had once helped build a nation, wrote out near endless peace treaties. Rough and calloused where they had once been soft and smooth. The hands of a fighter. A warrior. A monster. 

Jaina banished her image with an angry shout when it moved to begin tending to the jagged cut that marred her face. Staggering to her feet, Jaina looked in the mirror, trailing her finger down the path it took. It ran under her eye to her jaw before it carried on down her neck and over her shoulder. She could still see the orc that had dealt the blow in my mind. The rage in her eyes. How she had struggled uselessly against the spear of ice that had impaled her through her chest, the only thing that had stopped it from being a killing blow. 

“A monster indeed,” Jaina murmured, dropping her hand to her side. She entertained the idea of having the wound healed for but a moment before deciding against it. She would allow it to stay. A permanent reminder of what had happened, what she had done. 

She made no move to cover herself when the flap of her tent was opened by one of the camp healers. Jaina steadily met the Night Elf’s gaze in the reflection, tilting her chin up, “did you need something, Priestess?”

The elf frowned, “King Wrynn has just arrived, Lord Admiral,” she said steadily, “he’s been asking after you. Making sure that you had been seen too.” Her ears tilted back, her frown deepening as she appraised the shoddy stitches, “I can see that that has not happened.”

Jainas eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder, “No, and I will not be.” She glanced at her leg before limping back to her cot. “I will allow you to heal this bite,” Jaina waved the priestess closer, “wouldn't do to worry the king.” 

“No,” the priestess said evenly, “It would not.” She kneeled down and set herself to her task. Placing her hands over the wound and called on the powers of Elune to close it. “And, your face?” she asked.

“Leave it,” Jaina replied simply.

“It would not do to torment yourself, Lord Admiral.”

Jaina tilted her head, “If I didn't, then who would?” The priestess’s look of disapproval did not faze her as she stood to redress. “Thank you for your service. My leg feels much better.”

“It was not your leg that concerns me,” the elf replied evenly.

Letting out a mirthless chuckle, Jaina said, “That makes two of us.” Pulling on her mangled gauntlet, Jaina turned to leave. As she walked, she twirled her hand in another simple spell, an illusion to hide her soon-to-be scarring from very. Her scars were for her, and, she reminded herself, it would not due to worry Anduin.


End file.
